1st Zero Pollute Commute Day

When I started training for my first marathon last year, I jumped on the opportunity to have my wife pick me up from work on the way back from Great America so I could run in in the morning. I worked in Fremont, and mapped out a 22 mile route from my front door to my cubicle. There was something so cool about that run. I would leave the house at 5:30 am in darkness, watch the sun rise as I passed through sleepy cities wondering about all the traffic around me. The light would get brighter, the temperature hotter, the citizens more awake, and less curious, except when I finally pulled into 7-11 at around the halfway mark for a bottle of Gatorade and a large bottle of water for my hydration pack. Some sections got hairy when sidewalk got scarce, and my 45 minute motorcycle trip would take me about 4 hours, but its empowering to thumb your nose at gas stations (making up the cost of fuel sucking down energy gels of course), and combining training with reducing pollution, as well as freeing up a Saturday that might get burnt in running and recovery. I would repeat this run for my second marathon, three months later, and my first ultra-marathon the month after that.

Sadly, I left that job, and the nice "civilized" run into work. I joined a company across the Bay, and my commute to work was no longer under marathon distance, but now was right around the 50km mark. Shortly before my first 50mile race, I decided to make that trek, having my wife and daughter meet me for dinner with my brother near my work. Not exactly a reduction in pollution, but a nice kind of crazy, nevertheless. Unfortunately, I had feet issues, and when I finally crossed the Dumbarton bridge on foot, it felt like I had a stress fracture on my left foot. With 6 miles to go, I used my safety net, and called a coworker to come and get me, rather than show up to work late.

After witnessing a running partner of mine charge up Mission Peak without walking, and hearing his claim that biking gave him the endurance, I was sold, only I didn't have the money to buy. In talking to my brother about bicycles, he realized he had an old mountain bike sitting neglected in his backyard and graciously donated it to me. I'm not a bicyclist, even though it was my main source of transportation for many years after college, including one El Nino soaked year in Washington State where I learnt to endure precipitation. But my longest ride was my 13 mile commute about 10 years ago, and then my bicycle sat neglected in my backyard until a trash removal company decided it was garbage. But now, I'm an "endurance athlete" with illusions or at least the want of being an "ultraholic." Bike to Work Day 2008 comes, and as much as I try to bike to work that day...plans fall through so I can watch my daughter receive a school award. I have to make the feat the day after, without the "energize stations" and the hoopla and pageantry. I'm sure I'll be nominated for Father of the Year. I still get a ride home that day, however.

So as many of my gentle readers (you masses out there) know, I ride a motorcycle practically every day to work. But my mileage isn't legendary. I get a mere 35 mpg, and some people act shocked, and start quoting similar numbers with their Hondas, and their Toyota. I blame my past tendency to tune my bike to optimize acceleration rather than mileage. I hope to correct this when my current list of tasks gets short enough. But meanwhile, I started noticing myself at the pump almost every day (it's a small gas tank). And figuring out...I'm spending almost $10 a day commuting! That's a decent lunch. Or 5 happy hour beers if I don't tip (I always tip). This living thing is getting expensive.

I get it in my head to thumb my nose again. I buy tires more suitable for the street, learn how to use tire levers, notice that I'm now able to dismount and mount tires without causing gaping pry-marks on the rim, pick a day, and commit to it. I give myself 2.5 hours, and leave home at 7, which is a very civilized departure time, although I lose out on that whole "watching the neighbourhoods wake up", but I get to "like sleep in until 6am" so it's all good. The day happens to be July 24th.

To be blog-worthy, this expedition requires pictures. I make it a project to capture a photograph in every city I go through. So we start with:

Castro Valley

Castro Valley is represented today but a small portion of my driveway, featuring my faithful steed, my Rocinante, actually, I never named this vehicle. We haven't spent enough time together. Do you all name vehicles? My first motorcycle was named "Acid" because of how often I dropped it. My current motorcycle is "Chasey." I digress. I depart my driveway around 7:09, 9 minutes behind schedule. The late departure time is lack preparation. I realize that I didn't pre-stow a change of clothes at work, dig out my old pannier (I only have one), find the bottom bungee strap has gone, rig something up...and finally depart.

I never recapture that feeling of flying from my youth. I almost always expect it when I get on a bicycle. The way the wind goes through your hair (maybe now it's because I wear a helmet?), the tears in your eyes that streak back horizontally, the re-enacting of the floaty bike scene in the forest from that movie with those guys with the light swords. What's it called? I mundanely mash my gears, without the sense of being fast. My Garmin tells me I'm doing 4-5 minute miles, so I think I'm going faster than Ryan Hall, but it doesn't feel that way. By the way, that's Ryan Hall not on a bicycle, but running a marthon.

Hayward

Here we are at the crossroads of Baldwin and Tennyson. Both are fine fine wordsmiths in their own right. Did you know Alfred Tennyson is the second most quoted writer in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations? I don't think I'm in there, but I haven't read it, I'm just assuming because no one asked me if it was ok. See that Valero gas station? Didn't need to stop. Ha!

Union City

After a long bout of Mission Ave, and Tennyson, I finally cross highway 880, and hit Hesperian Ave. In some ways, I wish I could drive to Hesperian, dump my car, and bike. I don't like the battle. But Hesperian isn't too busy, and when I cross from Hayward into Union City, it becomes known as Union City Blvd, and oddly has some nice patches to it. The above picture is a new development, with a row of unfilled businesses and a Starbucks. The street has industrial buildings on the left, and new neighbourhoods on the right, with baseball diamonds, soccer pitches, and a bike path. I hit a Kaiser medical complex, where I have a tradition of stopping, sucking down an energy gel, and discarding the wrapper in the ashtray by the sidewalk.

Fremont

In Fremont, multi-personality disorder patient Union City Blvd becomes known as Ardenwood. I used to live around here when I first moved to California. I apologize for the roadkill. I didn't do it.

Ardenwood hits Paseo Padre, and I can just feel the approach to the Dumbarton bridge. I go over an overpass and see the weak in their cages below, and think how easy it'd be to be one of them.

I move my camera from my pannier to my shorts' pocket, and realize I can get a dynamic self portrait, so I do.

I simply don't like the approach to the Dumbarton bridge. I don't know why, it's nice enough with view of red farmhouses, water and birds. It's tedious, scenery isn't changing fast enough, I guess. I hate it while running, time crawls, and it is better by bicycle. I come across a pair running, and I want to join them, and let them know that I'm one of them. Instead I say good morning, and take a picture.

So at my last workplace, there was a big group of bicyclists. One of them would actually commute from Redwood City on occasion. I always wonder if I'll cross paths with him when I take this route on foot or by wheel. As I approach a cyclist, we greet each other, and it registers. I yell out "Joe!" And he yells out a surprised "Baldwyn?" We turn around and chat, and catch up. I take Joe's picture for posterity.

He reciprocates.

I finally get on the bridge structure, and on the left we have some rare views of the Bay:

Menlo Park

On the right we have some scary 70-80 mph cars driving towards you, with just a cement barrier in between. At around the half way mark, I cross from Fremont, to Menlo Park, and also cross county lines. Here's proof.

East Palo Alto

For some reason, I always thought of the end of the bridge as being almost there. But according to my Garmin, I have 10 more miles to ride. And like 3 more city lines to cross? Here's East Palo Alto:

East Palo Alto has a bad rep. I mean, when I first moved to California I was told it had the reputation of being the murder capital of the US? Over Detroit even? We didn't have Google then to check. I admit, I wondered what it'd be like to run through the city, and was a little intimidated. It's fine. The secret is appearing to be more crazy than the crazies. Ultrarunners are naturals. Once over hwy 101, East Palo Alto makes way to Palo Alto. A different city altogether.

Palo Alto

Palo Alto is represented here by Holly Oak Pre-school. This is where my daughter went for many years, while my wife worked as a nanny nearby. A great pre-school, we were recently reminiscing about the other families and kids, and the teachers, and what a great place it was. So when I passed by, I took a picture to remind my daughter of simpler times.

This last part is a little tedious. I keep expecting those "landmark streets" to come much earlier. I'm surprised to see "Embarcadero" when I'm expecting "San Antonio." But I think this is an artifact of thinking my journey is almost over once I'm over the bridge, when there really are some more miles yet. In reality, time doesn't pass as slowly as I think it does, I'm still going faster than Ryan Hall, I'm probably even faster than I was as a kid when I was pretending to be one of those guys on those floaty bikes in that movie with the guys with the light swords.

Mountain View

And I finally arrive at work, 32 miles, seven cities, and about 2.5 hours after leaving home. I hit the showers, raid the pantry, get to work, and dread the fact..I still have to go home. Yeah, I have a safety net, I can be picked up, in a Jeep that the bike can fit into, that gets half the mileage my motorcycle gets, rendering the whole exercise moot.

I'm busy, I work late, I don't get out until after 7. It's getting dark, and I lose the weight where I can. Camera goes, so the return trip isn't as blog-worthy. I hand-weigh the three pairs of shoes I have at work and pick the lightest ones. My thighs ache (also from an aggressive hill run the day before where I worked on cadence on the downhill portion), I know I'm going to see darkness... I do some last minute tuning to my bicycle (wow, really, my wheels shouldn't be rubbing against the brake pads the whole time?) and set off at a decent pace. I get into a groove. The bridge slows me down, but then the downhill is nice, as I watch that 4 minute mile flirt with 3 minute miles and less. But once I turn north, I'm stopped dead in my tracks by the wind. I stop, take a gel, put on a long sleeved shirt, think of this year's Ruth Anderson, slip into a lower gear and crank away.

Sun sets, and I regret not taking my camera. The ride home is actually up hill, and it slows me down more than it would running (I think optimistically). It does start to get tedious. I can appreciate it when people say even a 50k is harder than an ironman triathlon, because you get less variety. I want to dump the bike and run. When I finally hit the last climb to my house, I slip into the lowest gear, thinking it'll be good training, and then I say I've trained enough, and walk my bike up. I get to the door at around 10pm, with a commute time of 2;45, and immediately hunt for food.

ZERO POLLUTE COMMUTE DAY. First metric century. I'm proud of myself, and try to figure out the next chance I'll get, wonder how to tune the bike better, wonder how much of a habit I need to make this in order for the cost of a new bike to be justified to both me and more to the point, my wife.

Hey, here's to all us weekend warriors who don't wait for the weekend! This blog-entry is brought to you by lack of sleep and tequila.